


The Whole Enchilada

by Laura Shapiro (laurashapiro), Pares (kormantic)



Category: due South
Genre: Back to Chicago, First Time, Jealousy, M/M, Post-Series, Relationship Negotiation, Zine: Duet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-16
Updated: 2003-03-16
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:05:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9269675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/pseuds/Laura%20Shapiro, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kormantic/pseuds/Pares
Summary: It's a metaphor.





	

_Ray?_

_Yeah. Look, I just--_

_I know. But you've really got to stop calling me. I just... I can't keep doing this._

_I know that. I know it. I just... I miss you. Jesus._

_I miss you, too. [pause] So what? [pause] So fucking what, Ray? [pause] We can't-- We can't do this anymore. Please. Stop calling me. Okay?_

_[disconnect]_

Fraser was just thumbing the fast-forward button again when Ray walked in behind him.

* * *

They'd returned to Chicago two days before, and had reported to the precinct only this morning. Francesca had been out for the day, and thus their welcome back had been rather unceremonious. The Lieutenant had pointed Ray to his file-strewn desk, and handed him an accordion folder crowded with wiretap recordings, with the words 'Good to see you, Constable. Kowalski. Now, get out of here and don't come back until you've found out something about Kilgore and his goons.' They had spent the afternoon at the precinct and headed over to Ray's to continue working.

* * *

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Fraser had no ready answer. He could feel the blood pound in his head, pressure pooling behind his eyes like crude oil.

"I was looking for the Kilgore tapes. These appeared to be unlabeled... well, they were unlabeled, and--"

Ray looked white, one hand rubbing spasmodically at the back of his neck.

"It's not like it looks. I mean, it is, a little, but it's not."

Fraser was relieved at the stammer in Ray's voice. Clearly it had not occurred to Ray that Fraser might be prevaricating, that the actual truth was more than the presented facts. He pondered the magnitude of his wrongdoing as Ray was anxiously trying to explain his own.

"There was this mob guy, Chicago hard guy that Stella was trying to put away, and he got off on a technicality and he started calling and calling her. Intimidation, sleazy comments, that kind of crap. See, I knew the guy who was doing the surveillance, Jimmy Pino, and he'd let me sit in with him some nights, when I was...when I was really worried. I didn't even know about it for like a week, but then my Mum called me and spilled the beans. She was worried about Stella, you know? I mean, the ink wasn't even dry on the divorce papers, but I was out there.

"And so, you know, after they got the guy, I made a dupe of the tapes. Just to. Just to hear her voice, you know? I used to call her, but her voice isn't on her answering machine at home, it's just some robot guy, and her assistant does her voice mail, so. Uh. Yeah." His eyes were bright with shame, flicking from Fraser to the tapes.

"I understand, Ray," Fraser winced a little at the automation of his response. It was what you told people who were troubled, who were seeking absolution. A priestly rite. But it felt stale and brittle in his mouth, even as he said it again, seeking to still Ray's pacing, smooth his suddenly haggard face.

"Do you? Seriously? You ever stake out a girl's house, Fraser? You ever follow her around, even after you know she don't want to see you? And then, when she's _really_ gone, do you think about her all the time even though its tearing you up inside?"

"Yes," and he knew he sounded almost happy about it, his relief adding a gust to his single word. "I have. I _do_ understand." He made an abortive attempt to touch Ray's shoulder and said, instead, "You don't owe me an explanation, Ray."

Ray nodded slightly, something kicked and grateful in his expression.

He cleared his throat. "We got a busy day tomorrow. Welsh is gonna want something hot on Kilgore first thing. I better drive you home so I can catch some Z's."

"Actually, Ray, I'd prefer to walk. It would allow me to organize my thoughts and re-acclimate to the city."

Ray cocked his head.

"You remember this is Chicago and not Upper Mukluk, right? That we got crime on every corner and just general badness?"

"It seems to me I recall something along those lines, yes."

"You are a freak," Ray sighed.

"Yes."

As he made his way down the hallway, he heard the opening strains of a bossa nova, rather loud for this late at night.

For a moment, he paused, and very nearly turned around. The idea of catching Ray dancing, alone, in the dark...

I am a freak, he murmured softly, and eschewed the elevator for the stairs.

* * *

"Good morning, Francesca."

"Fraser!"

Fraser accepted her boisterous and physical hello as gracefully as he could, resettling his hat when she let him go.

She surprised him by embracing Ray just as warmly, even kissing his cheek.

"Uh, thanks, Frannie. Good to see you, too." Ray looked a little dazed as he touched his lipstick-rouged cheek.

"So, you got anything on that Kilgore guy for me?"

"'Good morning, Frannie. What were _you_ up to while I was off mushing through the frozen tundra, Frannie?'" Frannie muttered as she shuffled through an armful of manila folders.

"Uh. Yeah. That's what I meant. What's new with you?"

Fraser tilted his head and offered, "I believe you've highlighted your hair. It's very becoming."

Frannie blushed and put a hand to her bangs. "Thank you for noticing, Fraser. _Some_ people know a little something about social niceties." She elbowed Ray and then handed him the folder. He grunted.

"Jeez, Frannie, don't get your panties in a bunch. I'm sorry, already. Seriously. What have you been gettin' up to while we were, uh, goneski?"

She brightened and began, "Well, since Maria and the kids moved out to Florida, I've been redecorating. You've got to come see the house-- Fraser, the hot tub! It's--"

There was a small hubbub at the door, and Ray Vecchio strode in, looking tan and sleek.

"Hey, Frannie. You got that new letterhead for me?"

Ray dutifully stooped to kiss his sister's cheek and she glared at him as he shirked his long cashmere coat. A campaign button was pinned to the lapel of his tailored jacket.

"Can't you see that I'm talking here?"

Ray sighed, a sound so familiar and long-suffering that it made Fraser smile. Then Ray lifted his head, catching sight of Fraser.

"Holy crap! Fraser, you're back from Canada! Oh man, I didn't think I was gonna be seeing you again."

Fraser was swept into his second hug of the morning, Ray's grip firm and glad, the "Vote Vecchio" button hard against Fraser's chest. Ray had changed his cologne.

"Egoiste?"

Ray let him go and squeezed his arms briefly, smiling.

"Yeah, Calvin Klein. Stella likes it, so what can I do?"

He turned to Ray and offered his hand. "Kowalski."

"Vecchio." They shook hands, Ray running his other hand through his hair and looking quickly away. He nudged Frannie companionably and waved a hand toward Vecchio.

"What's with the button?"

Frannie nodded at her brother in a testy manner. "As I was saying," she continued, "I've been redecorating, _and_ helping brother dear here run for County Commissioner."

Fraser raised his eyebrows. "Public office, Ray? A noble undertaking." Fraser hoped his approval was being communicated more overtly than his confusion. Ray had never shown any previous interest in politics, but..."Your mother must be very proud."

Ray made a _cosi cosi_ gesture and Frannie rolled her eyes.

"Ma lives at his office, stuffing envelopes. There's nothing she wouldn't do for El Huffy over here," she said, plucking at Ray's jacket with a sisterly disgust that nevertheless communicated a certain pride.

"Do you mean, 'El Jefe', Francesca?"

"Whatever. His ego's bigger than the Met Life Blimp."

Ray tried unsuccessfully to hide his snigger.

Vecchio ignored them both and asked, "So what are you guys doing down here? Last I heard you were so far north you were out of cell phone range."

Fraser glanced at Ray, who had jammed both hands in his pockets and was scuffing the floor. "It's rather a long story."

"Color me surprised. I bet this one has caribou in it, too." He gave Ray a commiserating look.

Ray's unease was so frank that Frannie appeared to take pity on him, towing him toward the storage closet to retrieve the letterhead. They returned with a large blue cardboard box and set it on Ray's desk.

"Tell me all about it over coffee. I know this great little place around the corner from my office--"

Ray looked up. "You guys go, okay? I got some, some stuff I wanna do here..."

"Sure. How bout it Fraser?" Ray was putting his coat on. "We got some catching up to do."

Ray was now speaking earnestly with Francesca, his back to both of them.

Fraser didn't like the set of his shoulders. Getting Ray out of here might be the best thing for all parties.

"Certainly, Ray. After you."

"Don't worry, Frannie, I'll bring him back. I gotta pick up the paper anyway. You wanna leave it at the front desk for me?"

"What am I, your beast of burden?"

"My sister, huh? Betcha didn't miss _her_ up there."

Fraser tipped his hat to Francesca, and countered, "On the contrary, Ray. I thought about all of my American friends a great deal."

* * *

Fraser cradled the demitasse cup. One of the many things he'd missed about Chicago was the coffee, for which he'd eventually developed a taste. Espresso, cappuccino, and cafe au lait were not readily available in the Yukon.

He was worried about Ray. It had been Fraser's idea to come back, and while Ray had been glad to agree, he had been 'twitchy' ever since that first conversation about it. Twitchier than usual. And then...

"So. Tell me all about it."

He looked up. Ray was leaning back, his arm draped over the back of his chair. He'd put on some weight, and it suited him.

"Tell you all about what, Ray?"

"Benny, we're best friends! Sheesh, I don't see you for a year, and then I'm only back from Vegas about two minutes before that crackpot Muldoon wings me. Then, _bam!_ , you and Kowalski are adventuring all over Canada for three months! Don't you think I might wanna know what you've been up to?"

Fraser smiled and scrubbed at his eyebrow. "I've missed you too, Ray. I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. Communication can be difficult in the Yukon, as you observed. But I've -- we've -- been very well. Very well, indeed."

"You ever find that thing you were looking for? That hand?"

"Not as such, no. But we did have some very worthwhile adventures. You would have... well, you wouldn't have enjoyed them, but..."

"So why'd you come back? I mean, Frannie said you were just on a long vacation, but when they told me you were off on a quest for the Hand of Franklin, I didn't figure you'd come back until you found it." He sipped his espresso. "The weather too much for Kowalski?"

"On the contrary, Ray acclimated himself impressively. But it was my suggestion to come back. I felt a bit... lost. It seems Chicago has become more a part of me than I'd been willing to admit. I missed the stimulation, I think."

"Me, I couldn't wait to get away from it, but then I started to ask myself, 'what am I doing lying on the beach all day', you know?" Ray's smile was genuine, the smile of a man who has found his place in the world.

"Getting a nice suntan, it would seem. Life with Stella seems to agree with you."

"God, it's great, Benny. _She's_ great. She can kick my ass six ways from Sunday. But she lets me take care of her." He toyed with his cup. After a moment, he smiled, staring into the depths of his coffee. "You know what she loves? She loves to go shopping with me."

Fraser blinked. "Many couples find that shared interests can deepen their romantic bond..."

"Ah, that's not the half of it. I mean, I knew she was something special the minute I saw her in that Donna Karan suit. She's got class, you know? But I was sure it was gonna work out when she let me buy her those Manolo Blahnik slingbacks."

"You knew Stella loved you when she let you buy her shoes?"

Ray chuckled. "I know what you're thinking. Sounds like I waded into the shallow end of the pool. But see, we were both scared to death. When we first started dating, she wouldn't let me do anything for her. Couldn't pick her up after work, it was 'Let's meet somewhere.' She wouldn't let me pay for dinner, and when I brought her flowers, she got this worried look like she didn't know what she was gonna do with me."

Fraser remembered that look of Stella's very clearly.

"So one day we're holding hands, walking by the Water Tower. Window shopping. And I see these little beauties, real alligator, no nonsense. And she stops and looks at them and says they're fantastic, so I convince her to go in and try them on. This is a boutique, you understand. Not one of those chain stores."

It was easy to imagine Ray smiling, putting his arm around Stella, steering her into the shop as if he owned the place.

"Well, she liked the way they fit, and of course they looked great on her. But she was all, 'I don't know, Ray, they're a little dressy for work.' She really wanted those shoes, but she didn't _want_ to want them. You see what I'm saying?"

"I can't imagine a state's attorney makes--"

"That's not it, Fraser. She could afford those shoes. She just didn't think she deserved them. So I took her aside, and I said," and here Ray's voice dropped with a quiet intensity that Fraser found familiar, "'Listen, Stella, let me do this for you.' She looked at me worried for a sec, and I said, 'It's okay.' And then her whole face kind of relaxed into this great smile..." Ray looked fondly at his cup. "Anyway, she let me buy 'em, and not only that, she _wears_ them. All the time. And I know she's not doing it to humor me, either."

Fraser widened his eyes as a twinge of jealousy sang through him. He banished it, and raised his near-empty cup. "To you and Stella," he said with sincerity.

Ray grinned. "Me and Stella." They drank.

"Then you're happy."

"Yeah, Fraser," Ray lifted his arms as if to encompass the restaurant, Chicago, the whole world. "I guess I am." He pinned Fraser with a shrewd look. "You?"

* * *

"I want kids, Fraser."

Fraser was shocked. He could still feel Ray's breath on his face, the barest touch against his upper lip. Now Ray was a yard away from him and pacing, confined by the narrow dimensions of the cabin they'd rented outside of Jackson Hook. In the morning, they'd drive five hours to meet their flight back to Chicago.

"I'm...aware of that, Ray."

Their first kiss had not been a kiss at all, but an aborted attempt at one. It had been awkward, Ray bobbing and weaving as if he were in a boxing ring. Now Ray's eyes were wild. He flung out his arms and set the cabin's one bare bulb swinging. Its light lent Ray a certain bleak, noir aspect, catching the dull gleam of the petroleum jelly that had kept Ray's face from cracking in the shear they'd only just walked in from.

"I've always wanted kids. Me and Stella, shit, we broke up over kids-- that's how serious this is. It's serious, get it?" Ray looked up at him, so clearly agitated that Fraser felt a sympathetic twist of fear in his belly. He wanted to go to Ray, talk it out, help him, show him how he could help himself. But Fraser was helpless. He could barely move, still tasting Ray's breath and wondering how in God's name he could do anything, anything at all, without making a ghastly mistake.

Out of doors, the wind howled like a mourner.

"I understand." But he didn't, apparently. Ray had _kissed_ him.

"I mean, there's no way, there's just no freakin' way this could-- I want kids, that's all. Never mind."

Reach out to him, Fraser commanded himself. Give him a word, a gesture, anything. He needs you. But the fear in his belly was his own now, freezing him solid.

Ray picked up the coat he'd taken off three minutes prior.

"Forget it. Just forget it." He slammed the storm door on his way back out into the gale.

* * *

"Benny?"

"I'm... as happy as I generally am, Ray."

"Benny, sometimes I think you wouldn't know happy if it bit you on the butt."

He'd missed this, Ray's easy patter as much as his concern.

"Is it likely to do that?" He kept his expression innocent, but Ray didn't take the bait. He laid a hand on Fraser's shoulder.

"Trust me. You'll never see it coming." He dropped a small stack of bills on the table and reached for his jacket. "Come on, let's get outta here. I'll drive you back to the station. I need to grab that box, and I don't want to hoof it all over town."

"What are you driving these days, Ray?"

Ray grinned. "You'll see."

It was a sleek, black, late model Mercedes.

"It certainly has style," Fraser said cautiously. He tried to imagine Dief lounging in the back seat, but was defeated.

"It's not what I would have picked maybe, but Uncle Lorenzo kicked the bucket while I was in Vegas and he left me his baby. Her name's Charlene."

Ray unlocked the door and waved Fraser inside its cavernous, regal interior.

"It's a step up from the Riv, huh?"

"Perhaps. But the 1972 Riviera had 'balls', as I believe you once said."

Ray cackled and shook his head, pulling out into traffic and cutting off no fewer than three SUVs.

"It's good to have you back, Benny."

"It's good to be back, Ray."

"Hey, where's Dief, anyway?"

"In quarantine. I'll be picking him up this afternoon, as a matter of fact."

"Poor old Dief. Stuck all alone with a bunch of strangers when he should be watching your back." Ray reached into his pocket and drew out his sunglasses. "You know, when I was in Vegas I thought about the wolf a lot. Usually when I'd dropped a doughnut." He gunned the Mercedes through a yellow light.

"Diefenbaker missed you as well, Ray. We both did."

"Yeah, well." Fraser could hear the pleasure in Ray's muttered dismissal, and smiled to think his friend had changed so much and yet remained the same.

Ray had dropped him at the station, retrieving both his letterhead and a promise from Fraser to attend Sunday dinner at the Vecchio household.

"And bring Kowalski with you. Ma's worried he's starving to death."

"I'll be glad to tender your invitation, Ray."

He wasn't entirely sure Ray would accept, but Fraser knew that he harbored a deep fondness for Mrs. Vecchio, and not a passing interest in her cooking.

Fraser met Huey in the hall and inquired after Ray.

"He went to get a sandwich."

Heading to the canteen, Fraser stopped short when he saw Ray in the doorway, in a stance that could only be described as... lurking. Fraser could hear voices.

"...thought I was doing fine with it, you know, but then when he came back..." Francesca.

"...always hard to let go..." Stella. Oh dear.

"Ray. Ray. R--"

Ray spun around, marching toward him, his lips white with anger.

"Dammit, Fraser," he whispered harshly, "what's with the sneaking up on me? You have this thing for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, you know that?"

"Ray, clearly you were eavesdropping on a private conversation --"

"Oh, yeah, and what were _you_ doing? Eavesdropping on _me!_ Get out of my face, Fraser. I got work to do."

Fraser opened his mouth, then shut it again. His jaws ached. Ray would perhaps benefit from some time to cool off. As he would himself, he admitted.

"As you wish."

He turned on his heel and left, feeling as though he'd been punched in the face.

* * *

Ray appeared to be avoiding him. He had not stopped by the Consulate, nor had he called. Fraser was unsure about the proper course of action: should he "give him space," as the saying went, or should he go to Ray and confront him?

The idea clenched into a tight fist of fear in his stomach, and he defaulted to "giving space", telling himself it was because that was what Ray needed. But as several days passed without a word, Fraser went to the precinct, only to learn that Ray was out in the field. Fraser tried calling later, but Francesca said he was busy "broiling a suspect." This had never prevented Ray's coming to the phone before. It was perplexing.

Perplexing and painful. That Ray didn't feel he could trust him at this point in their relationship was a stinging blow; that Ray might prefer never to speak to him again, which was looking increasingly likely, was slow torture. The pain of missing him weighed more each day.

One night, Fraser was awakened from a dream in which he was buying Ray a pair of shoes. There was a scratching sound at his door, and Fraser sat up, listening intently.

"You haven't changed the locks yet," Ray informed him. He held his credit card aloft and waved it vaguely.

"Ray, I've--"

"I came by to say-- that I'm sorry. I was runnin' at the mouth the other day, I suck, and I apologize. I just-- I just. I don't know."

Fraser began to climb from his cot, and Ray shook his head.

"Don't. Don't get up. I just-- I. We split up, it's been two years already. I mean. We've been separated since '97."

He exhaled rather harshly, pacing briefly before shuddering to a halt at the closet door. He leaned against it and slid down its length, jacket squeaking, until he was huddled in shadow with his knees drawn up nearly to his chin.

"And I thought it was okay. That I could let it go, right? I mean. Orsini. And at the precinct, I could see her, and it wasn't like a kick in the guts every time.

"But now. Now, with-- It's so fucked up. She's marrying the guy. She told me. She's _marryin'_ Ray Fucking Vecchio, the guy I've been pretending to be for a year. It's like a-- a, a, soap, Fraser. It's like Jerry Springer." A small rueful hiss. "Ray Vecchio. Guess she's only interested in the genuine article. You know, it's weird. Seeing her today... She looks... Softer. She looked-- There's something. It's the real deal, Fraser. She loves that guy."

There was a catching inhalation and a long pause filled with the sound of Ray swallowing noisily and rubbing his face against the sleeve of his jacket. The creaking of leather and the roughness of Ray's breathing painted a poignant picture in Fraser's mind's eye. But the only comfort he could offer Ray was a listening ear.

"I figured, you know, that she'd move on. But. It's not that she doesn't-- deserve it. I mean, she does. She deserves it. Love, you know? I just didn't think it would still hurt so much. I feel like I've got rugburn-- inside, or something."

"Ray, first love never leaves us. I'm sure she still cares for you, very deeply, and it's only natural that you would still feel... attachment. But she _does_ deserve... love. As do you."

A thick, bitter chuckle.

"You sure about that?"

"Absolutely, Ray."

"What about Vecchio? He was your pal. Is he on the up and up? He a good guy? Seriously. I know he's your best friend and all, but that doesn't mean he and Stell--"

"Ray. I don't know Stella very well. But from what Ray has told me, he is very much in love with her, and I received the strong impression that they would be good for one another. Well matched, if you will."

"And me and Stella, we don't match?"

There was no tactful way to answer, and so Fraser said nothing.

Ray blew out a sigh.

"I know we don't. You don't have to say it. Look. Once, when we were still in school? She said she'd always love me. Even when I was old and... wrinkly. But then when we were breaking up, it didn't seem like she remembered that."

"Ray, as difficult as it is to believe, I think she did."

Another pause.

"Love, huh? It's a bitch."

"If it's any consolation, Ray, I don't think it's meant to be that way."

"Yeah." He heard Ray get to his feet. "Well. Thanks, Fraser. For not changing the locks."

"Think nothing of it, Ray."

"You better lock up behind me, okay? Who knows what kinda nutjobs we got around here. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course, Ray."

"Yeah. Okay."

And he closed the door very gently behind him.

Fraser could hear him toy with the knob for a few seconds before Ray's footsteps faded out of earshot.

* * *

The day was long, and Fraser spent its entirety at the Consulate. Inspector Green, who had replaced Inspector Thatcher on her promotion, was a well-fed, ingratiating man who couldn't understand how "the famous Benton Fraser" had come to be in his employ. He kept Fraser busy telling the story, with much pressing for details, of Muldoon's capture. This was punctuated by Green's urgings to please, for the love of God, think of your career, accept the transfer back home.

Which bore consideration, Fraser admitted to himself, if he and Ray were unable to work things out.

The situation at present was untenable. Certainly Fraser appreciated Ray's visit last night, not only for the apology but for the unburdenings with which Ray had entrusted him. But they seemed to be stuck in a recurring loop, a dance wherein they came closer together than ever before, panicked, and spun apart, following which Ray would nourish his pain over Stella and become miserable, which would force a confrontation between them, which led to an apology and a confession, which brought them closer together and started the cycle all over again. Lately, the downswings had included anger, mistrust, and hurt feelings on both sides, and Fraser didn't see any way it could continue without permanently damaging, perhaps destroying, their friendship.

Ray called late in the evening. He had located a witness in the Kilgore case who was willing to testify, and the mob boss was already in custody. Ray was going home, and did Fraser and Diefenbaker want to come over for pizza?

"We'd be pleased to, Ray. Dief has missed Chicago-style pizza." Dief, at his feet, whined an emphatic affirmative.

"Okay, great, that's great. I'll pick you up in half an hour."

"Splendid."

Last night's conversation indicated they were in the "closer together" phase of the cycle. If Fraser hoped to break that cycle, if he hoped that Ray would ever again try to kiss him, he must take this opportunity to speak.

* * *

Speaking proved difficult. When Ray arrived, tension came with him, as obvious as another person in the room and just as bound to prevent intimate conversation.

Ray related the details of the Kilgore bust as he drove, and Fraser answered in monosyllables, feeling increasingly annoyed with himself. He wondered if Ray wasn't annoyed with him, too.

As soon as he opened the door, Ray headed for the stack of take-out menus by the phone. Fraser stood at the window. The wind was picking up.

"So whaddaya want on it?"

"It doesn't matter to me, Ray. Whatever you like."

"Come on. Sausage or pepperoni? Maybe the Sandor Special. Or we could live on the edge and get that fancy goat cheese and pesto stuff."

"I honestly don't care."

"What do you mean, you don't care? Of course you care. Everybody cares what's on their pizza!" Ray's pique was obvious, if abrupt. He began to rant. "See, this is exactly the kind of thing that drives people nuts, Fraser. It's not normal. When someone asks me what I want on my pizza, I tell them I like Canadian Bacon and pineapple, and I don't like mushrooms or onions. I have an opinion!"

"Admirable, Ray. But what Americans call Canadian Bacon is really --"

Ray struck the table with his fist. "Don't _do_ that! Do not fucking do that. That's not the point and you know it!"

Fraser opened his mouth. Perhaps this visit had been premature after all. He tried to be conciliatory, despite the acid roll of his stomach. "I had no idea you felt so strongly about pizza, Ray. I ap--"

"Jesus, Fraser, you got _any_ real feelings?"

Fraser's confusion flared into anger.

"What do feelings have to do with pizza?"

"This isn't about pizza! Normal people, Fraser, they got wants and needs and they say so, they say, 'I _want_ the anchovies,' they say, 'I _love_ olives--'"

Fraser took a deep breath in an effort to forestall any further verbal inanity.

"Ray, how can you expect me to accommodate you when it's clear that you don't know what you want?"

"This has nothing to do with what I want!"

"It has everything to do with what you want!" Fraser was yelling now. It made his throat sore, and he could feel the blood in his face. "What the hell am I supposed to do when you kiss me and run? When you tell me you want to be with me, and then moon over your ex-wife? What am I to infer from that?"

Ray looked both angry and relieved. Leaning forward, he gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. "At least you can tell I _got_ feelings. Something to work with. Instead I get Constable Stoneface--"

"You want children."

Ray broke off in the middle of his tirade. "What did you say?"

"You want children. You told me so, right after you kissed me. What was I to do with that information?"

Dropping into a chair, Ray scrubbed at his face. All the air seemed to have been let out of him. "I don't know, Fraser. I thought...I don't know."

Fraser seated himself opposite Ray, leaning towards him. "You told me that, seconds after you kissed me. As though it had all been a mistake. You must have known I was afraid of making the same mistake -- of coming too close and regretting it."

"Fraser, with you I _never_ know. That's it, that's the whole deal. I don't know how you feel. And with Stella..."

Fraser's jaw tightened at the mention of Stella's name, but he sensed they were getting somewhere.

"...with Stella, I knew she loved me, but I never... _believed_ it, somehow. I was always afraid I was gonna lose her. I'd picture her walking out that door and never coming back, a hundred times a day. Not just when it got bad, either. Always."

"You didn't believe it would last."

"Right, I was always second-guessing myself. And I thought, well, a lot of couples stay together for the kids, you know? Even if I couldn't see her hanging around for me, I figured if we had kids, she'd have more reasons to stay."

Fraser lifted his head. "Ray. Do you want to have children?"

Ray's looked surprised. "I. Uh. It was what I wanted with Stella. Back before I knew I was a screw-up for sure. Back when I thought me and Stella were forever."

Fraser held very still.

"But, jeeze, raising kids on a cop's salary. And now, what, I'd have to do the single dad deal? I don't see it happening. I guess...I think...I think I just figured that out." Ray leaned slowly back in his chair. "I just. I wanted her to stay real bad, Fraser. But nothing I did kept her from walking out on me."

Fraser put his hand on Ray's shoulder and looked into his eyes. "Ray. I have no strong feelings about the toppings on my pizza. It does not follow that I have no strong feelings at all. That I have no strong feelings about _you_."

He watched Ray swallow, tried to judge his reaction. Ray was quiet. Flushed, but oddly calm. Waiting.

"I am, in general company, a man of action, yes. But when it comes to matters of the heart, I suffer a sort of emotional paralysis, as it were. And I have to confess to you that I regretted, almost immediately, not responding to your... to that first kiss in Jackson Hook."

"Second."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You kissed me first," Ray pointed out. "On the F. Scott Fitzgerald."

"I believe the ship you're referring to is called the Edmund Fitzgerald, but the ship I-- we-- the ship was the Henry Allen."

"I was there. You were there. It was sinking. Who cares what it was called?"

"I see your point."

"Hooray for me. So what's yours?"

"I propose that we... try again. A re-enactment, if you will."

"What, you mean, like-- a do-over?"

"Yes! Yes, a do-over. So we can get it right this time."

"You are a bona fide whack job, you know that? You have hopped the bullet train to Crazy Town." But it didn't sound like a refusal, only Ray's familiar brand of bewildered affection. He edged closer and Ray cocked his head at him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Ray."

"When you think about me, what do you think about? I mean, you _do_ think about me, right?"

And Fraser could feel his pulse hammer in his ears as he offered a diffident nod.

"I think about your warmth. Your kind heart. Your... lower lip."

Eyes carefully on the floor, Ray smiled. Eventually he tilted his head enough to glance at Fraser out of the corner of his eye.

"Turns you on?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"Your jeans. When they seem to be too small for you. I think about... undressing you and touching the places where your clothes have marked you; I think about soothing the skin there with my tongue."

"Christ." Ray's face was inches from his, but the table remained between them. The ticking of the kitchen clock was suddenly loud. Ray stood up, the chair skidding backward, and leaned across the table. Grabbing fistfuls of Fraser's jacket, he hauled him to his feet. "Yes, okay? Yes. Let's do a, whaddayacallit, a re-enactment."

Fraser vaulted across the table and pulled Ray into his arms in a smooth motion that had his blood pounding as though he were chasing a suspect. "Oh God," Ray muttered into his neck, as Fraser pressed his lips to temple, forehead, and stubbled cheek. Ray's sharp scent filled his nostrils; Fraser wanted to roll in him like a wolf with a fresh kill.

Ray shrugged out of his jacket while Fraser tasted him everywhere he could reach, but it wasn't enough. Yanking Ray's T-shirt out of his jeans, he pulled it over Ray's head, his palms greedy for heated skin, skating down Ray's smooth back and pressing past the unusually loose waist of Ray's jeans to cup--

A startled "Hey!" pulled him up short.

"Just. Hold your horses for a second. I'm. I'm, uh, I'm freaking out a little bit here." Ray pushed him away with shaking hands and folded his arms across his chest.

He seemed to be cold; his entire chest was marbled with gooseflesh and his nipples were drawn into angry pink points.

"Fraser, are you really sure about this? Because I'm having... it's performance anxiety, times _ten_ or something... Jesus. Look. Don't say anything. Let's try it again. I promise not to flake out on you."

He reached out and laid a hand against Fraser's face, and then bobbed closer to press his mouth to Fraser's. A soft, dry kiss. A peck, really. Another. Ray's tongue pressed past Fraser's lips and--

"No, no it's-- wait. Okay. Seriously, Fraser, get your hands _off_ me..." With a panicked little shove, Ray sprang back, overbalancing in his haste, and wheeling his arms.

Fraser cuffed Ray's wrist with his left hand and towed him closer.

"Ray. You needn't be afraid of me. I... I will put my hands behind my back. And you can... proceed at your own pace."

"Okay. Okay. I can do that. But. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm gonna put my shirt back on."

"As you wish, Ray."

Fraser watched with faint regret as Ray shimmied back into his shirt.

"May I ask you a question?"

"What?" Ray's voice was muffled inside the shirt.

"Have you had sexual relations with a man before?" He would be patient. If this was Ray's first time, his fear was entirely natural. Fraser was tired of being patient, but he would do it for Ray.

"What kind of question is that?" Ray sounded amused. He seemed more comfortable once he was fully dressed, but they'd been forced to break contact and he was once again at arms length. Fraser reached out--

"Hey! Hey, you said...put your arms behind your back."

"All right."

"'Sexual relations.' Sheesh. Yeah, Fraser. I've made it with guys before." Ray edged in closer again, close enough that Fraser could smell the stale coffee and sugar on his breath. Fraser willed himself still as Ray's hair tickled his face, told himself to relax as Ray pressed another dry kiss to his lips. Then just his lower lip. Then slid his tongue inside, wetly, tasting a little sour, a little sweet, and... backed away again.

"I'm sorry, Fraser, I don't think I can do this." Ray looked down and scuffed his feet back and forth against the floor.

Fraser was confused. If Ray wasn't experiencing heterosexual panic... perhaps Fraser wasn't sufficiently attractive to him? He winced. "Do you _want_ to do this?"

Ray's eyes glanced off his for just a second, fever blue.

"I do." Fraser exhaled as Ray continued. "I mean, yeah, I do. I really want to. Like wanting doesn't even cover it, but..." he scuffed some more, shuffled a little, and then looked up with a flashing smile. "I got an idea. Hang on."

Darting over to the stereo, he fiddled with the knobs until a light samba floated into the apartment. Ray turned back to Fraser and opened his arms.

"Dance with me."

Fraser felt his smile and hoped Ray wouldn't think he was blind to the seriousness of this moment.

"Certainly, Ray. Who's leading?"

"I am."

"Understood."

Fraser stood still while Ray arranged him: Fraser's right hand on Ray's hip, his hand clasped in Ray's.

The music swam around them... and they remained stock still.

Ray tugged a little on Fraser's hand.

"C'mon already. Let's go with the flow."

Fraser made an attempt to follow Ray's lead, but moved as stiffly as a man carved out of soapstone.

"You suck," Ray commented.

"Yes," Fraser replied.

Ray dropped Fraser's hand and slapped his shoulder.

"Loosen up, willya?"

"I'll do my best, Ray."

"'I'll do my best, Ray.'" Ray snarked. "I got news for you, Fraser, if this is the best you got, we're _never_ gonna get horizontal."

Fraser grasped Ray's hips and dragged him close, groin to groin, and marched the wide-eyed man backward until he had run up against a nearby wall.

"We don't need to be horizontal, Ray. Only... connected." He leaned in, meeting Ray's wary eyes. "Ray," he said quietly. "Let me do this." The samba played on. "It's all right."

Ray's face relaxed.

And Fraser kissed him. Slowly. Thoroughly. Making love to Ray's mouth with tongue and teeth, with the languid patience of a voluptuary, with tenderness and greed. When Ray tilted his head to allow Fraser more depth, a hot rush of blood zoomed southward and his temperature rose with wanting. Ray's hands came over his shoulders and Fraser tightened his grip on his hips.

Allowing the kiss to end, Fraser gently propelled Ray through a perfectly acceptable cha cha for eight measures or so, and Ray followed the subtle movements of Fraser's hand on his back like he'd been born to it. As the song drew to a close, he bent Ray into a low dip and held him there.

"We seem to enjoy better success when I lead."

Ray's face was flushed. "You made your point, okay, Fraser? How about letting me up now, before I get a hernia?"

"As you wish." He gently helped Ray back up to a stand, then resumed kissing him. Ray opened his mouth eagerly this time, reaching for Fraser's head to pull him closer. Fraser could feel Ray leaning in with his whole body, allowing Fraser to bear part of his weight as he had while they were dancing. Ray insinuated his leg between Fraser's, pressing his hardness against Fraser's hip. The gathering ache in his own groin forced a thrust out of him, and Ray broke the kiss with a hissing gasp.

Fraser looked at him carefully for a moment. "Is this what you want, Ray?"

Ray was panting. His eyes were glazed, his heart rate obviously accelerated. "Quit asking me that." Ray gave a thrust of his own, and Fraser saw stars for a moment. More of this. Must have more of this.

He tried to make his motions unthreatening as he reached once more for the hem of Ray's T-shirt in a slow dream-like replay of their first frenzied divesting. Ray's breath was warm and rapid, and his mouth was wet. Fraser allowed himself palmfuls of Ray's skin.

"Do me do me do me--" Ray muttered, and Fraser crowded him against the wall again with an aggressive grind.

"Whoa, hey-- Jesus! You're really gonna do me right here!?" And his chest was heaving and his voice was deep and ragged and his words were puffing against Fraser's ear, his cheek chafing Fraser's, hot and rough.

Fraser ached. "That depends on what you would like me to 'do'."

Ray licked his lips, and Fraser watched his throat work.

"...your mouth," he said finally.

"My mouth?" Fraser returned with exaggerated clarity.

"Put your mouth on me."

"Like this?" Fraser tongued Ray's left nipple.

"Like..." Ray's answer ended in a gasp as Fraser bit down, flicking his tongue against the rising peak. Ray tasted salty, metallic. A bit like gunpowder.

Fraser continued scraping his teeth against Ray's skin, inhaling the fine scent of his sweat, while Ray knotted his hand in Fraser's hair. Pulled. Fraser backed off and looked at Ray.

"I thought we agreed that I was leading."

"Did I hurt you?"

"Of course you didn't, Ray."

"Then don't get pissy."

"I'm not --" Fraser snapped his mouth shut. He wanted Ray gasping beneath him again, and he would get it even if he had to use force. His erection was straining against his zipper and he was long past the point of patience.

"Hold still," he muttered, and yanked open Ray's jeans.

"Hey!"

Rather roughly, Fraser pulled Ray's half-hard cock free, and sucked it into his mouth until his nose pressed against the blond curls.

"Oh boy..." Ray breathed, "Oh god... Fraser..."

Fraser tried to smile around Ray's penis, failed, and swirled his tongue around it instead. The pliant flesh tightened as Ray grew harder. Fraser began a slow, eager sucking, drawing more and more into his mouth with each stroke.

"Oh, _fuck_ , Fraser," Ray said, groping at Fraser's shoulders. "Ohhh... okay, okay-- Yeah..." There was a coarse sensuality in Ray's voice that had been missing before. He was relaxing. Ray was... what was the expression? 'Giving it up' for him. Fraser loved it. He tilted his head back, opened his throat, and grabbed Ray's hips in both hands, encouraging him to thrust.

No sound then but Ray's panting and soft moans. Now I have you, Fraser thought. Now I have you where I want you. He opened his own jeans and worked himself with short strokes. Oh, it felt good.

"I'm gonna... hey, leggo, I'm gonna-- gonna come..." Do it, thought Fraser, trying to keep his pace steady as he thickened in his own hand. Do it, he thought, as he came and came and tried to breathe.

"Fraser!" Ray's warning went unheeded, turning to a volley of grunts as he shot down Fraser's throat. Fraser backed off a little, the better to taste.

For a long while, Fraser could hear nothing, and experienced what might have been a sort of fugue state. He felt heavy and weightless at once, almost surprised by the hard floor and the distant complaint of his knees. Ray's hands still carded his hair, and Ray's warmth was still before him, still in his mouth. Fraser released it and leaned his forehead against Ray's trembling thigh.

"Fraser," Ray croaked. He slid down the wall until Fraser was fenced by Ray's splayed knees. Ray's hand stroked over his ear, the back of his neck, all along his shoulder, to clasp Fraser's sticky hand.

"You went without me? That's not buddies."

"I assure you, Ray, I didn't do it to disappoint you."

Ray drew himself up and leaned forward to press a quick chaste kiss to Fraser's temple before sagging back against the wall again.

"Fraser." Ray managed to look lazy and restless at once, his eyes gleaming in the dim glow of the single lamp.

"Yes?"

"I can't believe you just did me."

And Ray did, indeed, look rather incredulous. He lifted Fraser's chin, thumbing Fraser's lower lip.

"You are so hot. I knew this. I knew you were hot. How hot, I didn't know. This is hotness, like-- like naked sunburn at the beach hot. God _damn_ ," Ray murmured, "next time, let me help you out."

And he tugged Fraser close, wiping first his own hand and then Fraser's against his jeans.

"I want it," he told Fraser's jawline. His voice was soft, but urgent. "The whole-- the whole enchilada. Can I have that? Can you do that?"

"Yes." He paused. "I can do that, Ray, but I'm afraid you'll have to be patient with me."

"Yeah, I get you. Sure." He stroked the side of Fraser's face. "Mind if I get comfortable while we wait?"

Ray headed down the hall, allowing Fraser a nice view of his back. Fraser wanted to kiss the base of his spine, just where it disappeared into his jeans. He followed him into the bedroom, where Ray took off his shoes, socks, and jeans and sprawled out naked on the bed. An anticipatory shiver ran through Fraser, but there were many minutes ahead before he could do anything about that. He began removing his own clothes.

"Holy cow, Fraser." Ray said, as Fraser shucked his boxers. Fraser looked up.

"What?"

"You're just..." Ray gestured at him weakly, his face radiating amazement. Then he stopped and squinted. "Do you _iron_ your underwear?"

Fraser was puzzled. "Certainly. Why wouldn't I?" He regarded the discarded boxers on the floor, picked them up, and folded them. He reached for his jeans.

"Now you're doing it on purpose. Get over here, will you?"

Fraser regarded Ray's lean body spread before him, shrugged, and climbed onto the bed.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"I find that I'm rather peckish myself."

"You know," Ray smiled, "I could get Sandor to leave a double ham and pineapple at the front door. Then we could just sneak it out of the hallway later and eat it naked."

Fraser communicated his approval with kisses so focused that Ray nearly skipped the phone call. In fact, they became so involved that later they barely heard the knock on Ray's front door, or Sandor's congested appeals for a tip.

Later, as Ray carried the half-empty pizza box out to the kitchen, he called, "Hey, I been meaning to ask you..." He returned, sliding back under the covers. "How come you didn't make any moose calls when we were up north? I kept waiting for you to, you know, whistle like a bird or squeak like a dolphin. Something. I figured you'd be looking to show off your woodsy side." Ray inadvertently elbowed him as he shifted in bed.

"Dolphin boy," Fraser murmured fondly. "Hmm." He cleared his throat and then opened his mouth in his best coyote dirge, a noise his friend Steve had once described as an 'uncanny canine yodel'. Ray startled and Fraser soothed him with an absent pat on the head and continued his rather shrill and ululating howling until Ray clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes crinkled with amusement.

A companionable silence ensued, and Ray fidgeted slightly, his hair prickling against Fraser's shoulder. Fraser was too elated to relax. "Do _you_ have any special talents you'd like to share?"

Ray gave him a rakish grin.

"Sure." He propped himself up on one elbow and yawned. "But all _my_ special talents are dirty."

Fraser beetled his brows. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Dirty," Ray repeated, leaning closer. "Smutty," he continued, dipping his head to tongue Fraser's ear. "Slutty. _Capice_?"

Fraser hoped his expression conveyed his avid interest in witnessing these special talents.

When Ray neither continued to lick him or speak again, Fraser prompted, "Perhaps you'd care to demonstrate?"

Ray laughed a little and shook his head.

"Well. There was this one thing... When I was 15, Wheat Sears told me he could suck his own dick. And so, you know, I tried to see if I could do it." Ray pursed his mouth and made a craning motion. "And I could."

Fraser tossed his head and cracked his neck. "That's something I'd very much like to see." Fraser's voice felt rough in his throat. The thought of Ray... well, admittedly the position must be a bit ungainly, but still, it was a stirring image, to say the least.

"Yeah, well, that's too bad, Fraser," Ray ran his hand down Fraser's belly and scratched at his pubic hair, "because I can't do it anymore. I got too tall, or not so loose or something." He reached lower and cupped Fraser's balls, stroking them gently. "But I still remember how to do this." And he bent and took Fraser's penis in his mouth.

Fraser stared up at the ceiling, slack jawed. He couldn't bring himself to drop his gaze to where Ray's blond head must surely be...bobbing. It was enough to feel the smooth edges of Ray's teeth, the patient, sloppy paint of his tongue.

The ceiling was a cool, neutral place, with white acoustic tiling and-- oh dear. Already Ray's ministrations were having their desired effect. Fraser was rising to the occasion.

"You... ah... you certainly do have a talent for this, Ray. Perhaps..."

Ray's mouth slid off of him in a delightful way. "If you're still talking, I'm not doin' it right." He resumed, applying a hint more pressure, and lengthening his strokes. It was very distracting.

Beyond distracting, in fact; it was impossible to think. The deep, wet suction was pulling more blood southward-- Fraser began to feel that his entire being, everything that was important in the world, was being sucked into those few inches of needy flesh. Already he felt flushed and his breath was coming in gasps.

He tried to say something, to stop Ray before it went too far, but he was incapable of forming words. He lay there, panting helplessly and fisting the bedspread, until Ray stopped. At that, a groan escaped him that he knew, in some far-back part of his mind, he'd be paying for for years.

Ray's mouth was as red as if it had been rouged, and he was smiling. He shinnied up Fraser's body and kissed him deeply.

Fraser held him tightly, aware of Ray's increasingly urgent fumbles in the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. Ray broke the kiss.

"Dammit, it's in here somewhere...

"...ah, here we go." Ray sat up and handed Fraser a small bottle marked 'Liquid Silk'.

Fraser studied the bottle, turning it around until he found the label.

"Personal lubricant," he read aloud.

He cleared his throat.

And then cleared his throat again.

"I see."

Ray was straddling his thighs now, looking flushed and ardent.

"I uh. I don't have any condoms, though."

"Then perhaps... we should attempt this particular action another time," he said, but Ray shook his head.

"Nu-uh, Benton-buddy. It's time to pony up." Ray slapped Fraser's hip.

"But Ray--"

"Seriously. Fraser. How many people you been with?"

"I-- I have had intimate relations with... two people."

Ray looked frankly disbelieving. "You're shittin' me."

Fraser felt his own eyebrows raise.

"No."

"Who were they? You been with a guy?" Ray demanded. "I already know one of 'em musta been that Victoria chick."

He paused, then looked stern. "You with Vecchio? _Were_ you?"

"No." He was unprepared for Ray's sudden vehemence. "Ray. I've been with two women. Victoria, and a young woman named Stephanie Cabot. She was very wealthy and very... American. I'm afraid her sense of entitlement made it rather difficult to refuse her advances.

"I was never 'with' Ray Vecchio on the terms you imply. But I did-- I do love him dearly."

Ray's eyes softened, and his palms relaxed, spread out on Fraser's chest.

"Okay. I didn't mean to freak out on you like that. I mean, the only reason I even asked was... I've been with three women, Fraser. And had a couple of hand jobs here and there with some guys from bars. Statistically, that ain't a lot for a semi-het guy my age."

Fraser nodded.

"That means... we're low risk. You know what that means, right?"

And Fraser dry swallowed and nodded again.

"Okay. Okay then. That's good. That's greatness because...Look, Fraser. I'm in love with you. And I don't want nobody else. I'm clean. You're clean. You're-- you're everything to me. You, uh. You still want to do this?"

He sounded uneasy, but his hands were warm and soothing against Fraser's skin.

"Wanting doesn't even cover it,'" Fraser murmured, running his hand up Ray's arm. "But I'm afraid I've never--"

"Hey, me neither, so it's all cool, right? Don't worry, I have a clue about this. Stella used to... uh. With her fingers, sometimes."

Ray leaned forward and kissed Fraser again, slowly this time. Thoroughly. Then he leaned back and offered Fraser his open hand.

"Squirt some of that stuff over here, wouldja?"

"I beg your-- oh. Yes, of course." Fraser uncapped the bottle and sent a thick stream of 'personal lubricant' onto Ray's fingers.

"Jeez, that's cold. Now..." Ray leaned forward a bit, reaching behind himself. Something opened in Ray's expression. "Oh. Oh boy. It's been a long time."

Ray's lowered eyelids fluttered and his mouth hung open. Fraser felt his cock begin to rise again, the skin tightening over his shaft as he watched Ray touch himself.

For a moment Fraser felt a bolt of pride so pure he blushed with it. He had overcome his paralysis. He had taken a risk, made his desire known. And rejection, it turned out, was not inevitable. To have Ray, all he had had to do was ask. No matter what disappointments his future held, no failing could ever erase this triumph.

Stroking Ray's trembling thighs, mesmerized by his low, grunting breath, Fraser did his best to commit this moment to memory. But it was impossible to remain outside of himself. Watching Ray move, he was overcome by the blank raw state of animal arousal, body and mind one ravenous thing.

Lust surged as his rallying erection was gloved in slickness by Ray's stroking hand.

"I'm good to go. Hold still." And Ray shifted, kneeling up, and then... lowered himself, pressing down with exquisite pressure, pausing with a grunt to accept the head of Fraser's cock.

When he was fully seated, all Fraser could do was gape. He was too hot, sweating. If he moved, he would come. If he didn't move, he would die.

Ray bounced a fist against Fraser's chest. "Fraser, you gotta breathe."

And Fraser did, and the resulting see-sawing crest of breath rocked Ray above him. Ray made a small glottal sound of surprise.

"Holy shit, you hit the-- oh."

Fraser inhaled again, fighting for control. It was too good. Ray leaned forward and braced himself against Fraser's chest, his head dipping low enough for Fraser to see the smooth nape of his neck. Fraser longed to kiss it.

Then Ray tightened his thighs and shifted again.

"Ray," Fraser managed, a bark of pleasure and a warning at once.

He jack-knifed into a sitting position and Ray's eyes grew wide, his entire expression suffused with a wildness Fraser had never seen. He gripped Ray's arms tightly, too tightly, and kissed him, hungry and moved.

He couldn't stand it. He unseated Ray, and Ray's mouth buckled slightly, but Fraser set Ray down on his back and drew his lower body astride his knees. Ray's thighs hooked around him automatically. With a surprised little laugh, Ray raised a hand to tug at Fraser's hair.

"Your hair's all messed up."

"So is yours," Fraser pointed out.

"What else is new?" His eyes glinted, and he wet his lips deliberately. "Fuck me, Fraser."

It was as if Ray had flipped a switch. Fraser groaned, entered him in one smooth thrust, and ceased to think at all. His body was no longer his own; it was only an instrument, an extension, a tool for Ray's pleasure and his own. Instinct lashed him, and his hips obeyed the single directive of rut.

Ray's clenched hands, his gritted teeth, the heave of his chest expressed an ecstatic pain that could only be soothed by climax. Fraser drove him toward it, loving the high flush of his cheeks and the sheen to his skin. His own body was a vehicle consumed in flame, charging toward oblivion.

* * *

"I... wow. I mean that."

"Thank you, Ray."

They lay on their sides, facing one another. "So, were you thinking about that the whole time? Like, from Day One?"

"I'm afraid not, Ray. It wasn't until you... kissed me, that I began to realize the nature of my feelings for you. Before that, it was a general sort of love. The warmth of friendship, trust, partnership. But after Jackson Hook, I... there was a certain specificity, if you will. A focus. And I knew then that I loved you with a more directed intensity."

"Yeah, like a _blowtorch_ ," Ray commented with a smirk.

"...and that I hoped to somehow earn your love in return."

Ray kissed him lightly, and then said, "This isn't gonna be easy, ya know." He looked down.

Fraser craned his neck, trying to catch his eye.

"I mean, first, I gotta put up with you every day, but hey, I was doing that already, so..." Ray was watching his finger intently as it circled Fraser's nipple, but a smile was tugging the corners of his mouth.

"I'm sorry if my continued presence is a hardship to you, Ray, but I'm afraid you must try to bear it somehow."

Ray didn't look up. The smile was gone, and his finger was becoming irritating. Fraser grabbed his hand and then Ray met his eyes.

"It's just... this kinda thing... this can wreck a cop's career."

Fraser squeezed Ray's hand. "I know, Ray. But we'll be discreet."

Ray looked down again. "I don't know. And what about you, Fraser? You're gonna want to go back to Canada someday, and..."

Fraser dropped his hand and rolled away, onto his back. He massaged his temples. "You're right, Ray. This is going to be more difficult than I thought." He rolled back again, taking Ray's face in his hand. "I can't predict the future any more than you can. But Ray, whatever problems come up, we'll face them together." The old fist of fear was back, trying to take hold of him, but this new sense of trust, of peace, was stronger. "I'm not going anywhere unless you're going there, too."

Ray frowned intensely. "So you're saying I'm stuck with ya?"

Fraser thumbed his cheek. "That's exactly what I'm saying. And if you persist in coming up with reasons why we're doomed to fail--"

Ray's expression was wry. "You're gonna kick me in the head?"

"You're damned right."

Ray chuckled, and gathered Fraser into his arms. Fraser tried to remain stern, but it was no use. Happiness had bitten him in the butt... or possibly kicked him in the head, and he couldn't help but giggle.

His giggle was soon muffled by another kiss, and just as his concentration had crystallized once more, he heard the unmistakable sounds of--

"Oh dear."

Dief, raiding the kitchen.

"What's up?"

"I'm afraid that left to his own devices--"

And there, the unmistakable wet whomp of a pizza landing face down on a hardwood floor. Followed almost immediately by the familiar, almost homey, sound of an ill-mannered animal wolfing its food.

Ray cocked his head.

"Don't sweat it. Once he licks it up, it'll be the cleanest my floor's been since I moved in."

"But Ray--"

"It's just a new layer of slime." Ray's affable shrug took on a new appeal when he was naked. "You know me. I'm a slob." He licked Fraser's collar bone, mumbling, "A pig. I got... _[lick]_ uh... infestations..."

"Is this is your idea of pillow talk?"

"I'm not the one who makes animal noises in bed, Fraser."

"I'm afraid I disagree, Ray. In fact, allow me to demonstrate..."

It took gratifyingly little effort for Fraser to prove his claim.


End file.
